Losing Harry
by Russian Faerie
Summary: '"Harry..." "Yes, Harry what? Spit it out Weasel," "Harry's dead,"' - Draco deals with the grief of losing Harry. - HAITUS-
1. Stop Skiving Off Classes Potter

**I was looking through sad Drarry things on Google and I came across a few Drarry story ideas and thought I would write a quick story. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Hey!" Draco calls across the hall with a scowl on his face, "Weasel! Granger!"

The pair across the hall turn their heads towards Malfoy and Ron bites out,

"What do you want Malfoy? We're really not in the mood,"

At this Draco smirks and continues on with what he was going to say.

"Go run and tell your little boy hero, Potter, to stop skiving off classes! His grades are bad enough,"

He watched as the Weasel and Granger registered his words but the response he got was not what he expected. Granger let out a small whimper and hid her face in the curve of the Weasel's neck while the dreaded red head looked at Draco with confusion across his freckled face as tears welled up in his eyes.

"You mean you don't know, Malfoy?" the blood traitor asked. Draco bets his voice would have sounded incredulous if it wasn't quivering.

"I don't know what, Weasel? His he on some holiday with that Weaslette of his?"

"N-no," the Weasel starts and Draco notices how he tightens his arm around the Mudblood of his before he continues.

"Mal- Draco,"

 _Draco? Since when did he call me Draco?_

"Harry..."

"Yes, Harry what? Spit it out Weasel,"

"Harry's dead,"


	2. Confusion and Grief

**I'm so sorry for this. God I'm horrible.**

* * *

"Harry's dead,"

* * *

And suddenly Draco noticed things that he didn't before. The way that Weasel and Granger leaned onto each other like they could barely stand. How all of Gryffindor had been looking solemn for the last week. How Potter's friends always seemed to have puffy, red, and bloodshot eyes. How they barely spoke to each other. How Granger had skipped classes for two days with Weasel. How the teachers didn't give Potter's friends any homework.

Something twisted in his gut and he suddenly felt very nauseous. There was a pain, a burn coming from his chest and he didn't understand! Why the fuck did he feel this way. Why did it feel like the rug was just pulled out from under his feet and he was falling, falling, falling. And there was a rushing in his ears and his heart was hurting and tears were coming down his face and he didn't fucking understand it! He was supposed to hate _him._ He should be glad that _he_ was dead.

He crumbled to the ground with a pathetic whimper as he started shaking his head

 _This can't be happening, it can't! It's not possible. Not possible! Not possible._ _Not possible. Not possible._ _Not possible._ _Not possible._ _Not possible._

Draco didn't notice as he started whispering those two words again and again under his breath like a prayer. Like if he said it enough it would somehow bring Potter back, with his insufferable attitude, tameless hair, and stupid, stupid glasses.

"H-hey Draco? You alright there?" Crabbe's voice reached his ears and it occured to him that he was having an emotional breakdown in front of all his friends and all his rivals.

But that did't matter.

Harry Potter was dead.

Pansy slowly inched her way forward, trying to find a way to comfort Draco.

Not that he noticed.

Because how could he notice that when he was never going to see _him_ again.

Or tease _him_.

Or verse _him_ in Quidditch.

Or be partnered with _him_ in Potions.

Never.

Never.

Never.

N

E

V

E

R

And he would give anything for it not to be true because it just couldn't fucking be true.

But it was. It was. It was. It was.

Draco got up from the ground and he ran.

* * *

 **Was listening to _Cigarettes After Sex_ for some reason.**


	3. Emptying a Bottle of Wine

**I'm so mean, why did I write this?**

* * *

Draco got up from the ground and he ran.

* * *

Draco seemed to go through the next week in a haze. He was constantly aware of the pain in his chest. It never left but it did change.

Sometimes it would be a sharp pain that made Draco stop for a moment in the halls, or in class, or in his dorm, or in the Great Hall, and he would rub at his chest vigorously, trying to ease it. He refused to remember how he noticed that _he_ did the same thing to his scar.

Sometimes it was an ache so deep that it seemed to seep past his chest and into his bones, making it hard for him to concentrate on what he was doing at the time. If he wasn't doing anything he would just stare into space hoping for the pain to stop.

And these pains and aches made him so angry! So frustrated that he wanted to tear his hair out and through a tantrum demanding answers to why he felt these things for _him_ and why _he_ died in the first place and why someone, ANYONE wasn't able to save _him._

And that one time when he decided to get drunk, he showed up to the Great Hall, empty wine bottle in hand, demanding that he get to see _him_ because he was a Malfoy and Malfoy's always got what they wanted! The look of sympathy on the Grifffindork's faces made him scream and yell and curse at them until Madam Pomfrey Stunned him and took him to the Infirmary. He woke up the next morning with a dreadful headache and an ache in his chest.


End file.
